


Good Fortune the Extended version

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-03-01 22:23:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2789843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what the title says. This is a second version of the original in which I have attempted and am attempting to expand on points, fluff things out with descriptions, maybe get Fleur involved more at the start etc. Very A/U Will contain mature themes, possibly triggers I don't really know. Fair warning: Not for sensitive souls. Will also have few author notes (hopefully). I apologize for this fic but it wanted to be written and I'm willing to share. It is already posted online elsewhere alongside the original but I like being able to download the fics to read on the go, so maybe some of you will too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A sincere apology to anyone that I have unintentionally adopted ideas from, to say your work is inspiring doesn't begin to cut it. As for my English (grammar, punctuation, spelling etc.) , they don't exactly teach it terribly well in my school. Updates shall be sporadic and this story will take a while to get into the thick of things. So I'll leave it at that, enjoy if you can, if not thanks for reading anyway. Let me know if you have any questions, suggestions or if you think it's worth continuing. Obviously this is non for profit and purely a stress reliever, I own only my story none of the characters or the original world it was set in.
> 
> Cheers all,  
> raisecain
> 
> To clear up confusion regarding the language they are speaking I have decided to use a key of sorts which goes as follows-  
> Italics" = French  
> "Block"= English  
> Italics = Thoughts, dreams, surreal moments etc. (in the event these are used) also used for a line or two after chapter title as catch up.  
> Bold and italicized= Memories (in the event these are used)  
> Hope this helps make things a little clearer.

**Chapter One: Prologue**

"Fleur, ma petite!" The call came only slightly muffled through, however many doors. _Seven_ , she decided mentally having plenty of experience even at the young and relatively tender age of nine.

" _Coming Maman!"_ she sent ahead to buy herself a small amount of time. Hastily, she put aside her sketchbook and pencil, taking care not to smudge the drawing she was currently working on as she placed a glassine page on top before closing the book and placing both book and drawing implement in the drawer.

Shoes already on Fleur flew out the door, down the corridor, two flights of stairs into the elaborate and ornate entrance hall of Delacour manor. In her opinion manor was dreadfully misleading and she would be more inclined to refer to it as a castle, however for modesty's sake (false though she may feel it to be), she refrained from voicing such an opinion to any.

Her mother was standing looking regal as ever. A perfectly manicured eyebrow, rose in a perfect arc, in a perfect look of irritation. However being Appoline, she did not have the luxury of being able to outright say such a thing. _Not to me anyway_ , she told herself trying not to think about when she did.

Being a Delacour she wasn't permitted to quail under the look, not to slouch or try and make herself smaller much as she would like to and her natural instincts recommended. Instead she stood tall, looked her mother in the eye and addressed her directly, " _I apologise Maman, I had to finish something off."_

No facial twitch or quirk gave away her response but the look in her eye flashed from anger to a closed off in rapid succession. Any but her and her sire would have missed the tell-tale signs of her ire's impending violent release. Only in her mind did Fleur think to pity the unfortunate soul that it would affect.

Appoline merely gave a cool yet sharp nod of the head in acknowledgment. Fleur could have deflated in relief, after all, she had only done what she had been taught in terms of completion and it's standard. Sometimes though like in this instance it was a cause of hesitance for her, to decide if the same rules applied to situations involving her mother.

" _Come, we have much to do,"_ if the offered hand was more rigid than comfortingly pliant Fleur didn't notice, or at least pretended not to anyway. With that she felt the imaginary hook, jerking her from behind her navel. It had taken time but the young Fleur had grown accustomed to it and its association with apparition.

...

Living on a large patch of land in the French countryside, young Fleur found the sights, smells and sounds of the larger cities overwhelming and captivating. It was all too easy to get distracted by everything around from the well-kept shop fronts in the central business district to the more dilapidated and run down areas that housed the poor and the homeless. It was this that caused her to be separated from her mother and half-absentmindedly wander the streets herself. Or it may have been fate.

Who knows? Whatever you called it, how could it possibly be that unintentionally she stumbled upon or more accurately was nearly bowled over by a small body that barrelled into her. Eyebrows furrowed and lip curled in what would become, in later years her signature scowl.

Thinking perhaps it was an animal of some sort, she went to shove it off, _probably a cat knowing my luck,_ she thought bitterly to herself. Only she would be 'lucky' enough to have a run in with a natural enemy while on a routine shopping trip and market browse (it being Friday).

However before Fleur even gathered the breath, strength and indignation that would be required to deal with the unwelcome pest, the weight was gone. She could see a hand being reached out. Her scowl only deepened as she impulsively looked up to chastise the human that had so rudely and abruptly knocked the air from her lungs. Snapping her head up she lifted her chin, fully intending and prepared to haughtily berate the urchin, when once again she found she couldn't breathe. This time however it was because of the two beautiful pools of milk chocolate that gazed back at her.

...

A young girl stood in the kitchen of an orphanage of the edge of the very same minor French town that Fleur happened to be visiting that day. Call it fate or luck- good or bad, it remained to be seen. Nevertheless, Hermione was peeling carrots over a crude wooden bowl that currently sat on a worn, badly pock marked yet sturdy table. As she distractedly blew a number of strands of hair away from her eyes she heard voices starting to rise.

Rolling her eyes at her own foolishness in believing that the piece would be kept she rapidly finished off the current vegetable before pushing her sleeves further up her arms. The normal buzz of moderately loud conversation and movement that was the norm in the four roomed 'house'- in her mind shack was more appropriate considering it's precarious build- had reached a crescendo.

Immediately she took off sprinting the ten strides it took to reach the shared dormitory of sorts just in time to come face to face with what would pass for the oaf of the establishment. Somehow despite the meagre amounts of food that each child was provided with, Pierre had succeeded in outgrowing them all, to a slightly taller than average teenager.

He was at this particular moment, using this unfortunate fact to take advantage over one of the runts. The wretched thing was suspended in the air, much farther from the ground than they were used to given Pierre's gangly limbs. Of course it would be precisely when she walked in that he would turns those dark eyes on her. Were it not for the fact that his hair was a sandy brown, streaked with blonde she would have said his appearance matched his temperament.

" _And so the Brit arrives. Your lot always are sticking their noses in other people's business aren't you?"_ He sneered at Hermione quickly having lost interest in his captive. The runt crumpled to the floor before scrambling back to the furthest corner of the dorm from the door, and in extension, from Pierre and Hermione.

Any other child when faced with someone more than twice their age and damn near twice their height, would likely have grovelled before a seemingly more capable adversary, however Hermione never had any patience for Pierre's antics. Sure she was small but that only meant she could out maneuveor him and being lighter and fast on her toes meant she had an advantage when it came to speed. Not to mention her rather sharp and calculating mind that endeared her to none.

Shooting Pierre her most innocent smile she responded in a sickeningly sweet tone, like that of over ripe fruit, " _But of course Pierre! Although I may not have to intrude nearly so much were my nose as long as yours."_ Hermione made sure to batten her eyelids for effect. Although large in build his wit wasn't in short supply despite many people's preconceptions, it didn't take long for his eyes to flash in rage and a fight broke out.

Any observer would be hard pressed to keep track of the scuffle with the speed of blows landed and the degree of damage done, concealed by entangled limbs. When Hermione finally managed to disengage herself she noted with pride that his nose likely broken and spewing blood while he cradled his crotch gingerly.

Her grin was feral as her injuries were minor in comparison. Once she sent him the smug smile she ran out of the dorm and out of the orphanage, maybe she could hide until she knew at least one of the sisters would have returned from their devotions. Her mind distracted she found herself barrelling into another body and knocking said person to the ground.

She found herself half lifted, half pushed off the unknown entity, scowl set in stony features and words prepared for what she presumed to be one of the street rats that refused to stay put in a home, her distaste for them sour in her mouth. In quick succession however she realized a number of things; One- no urchin would have managed such a feat of physical strength given they had little enough to scavenge, Two- when she hastily shook her scraggly chestnut hair (that she was sure was matted with dirt) from her face, she caught sight of one of the most beautiful creature she had ever seen.

The girl propped up on her elbows seemed to emit an ethereal grace and beauty, had she not known any better Hermione would have assumed that it was an angel. The scowl melted from her face before her companion could observe it replaced by furrowed brows, more so in annoyance at herself than anything else. Her eyes remained locked with those clear blue spheres that appeared to reflect back the sky on the cheeriest Autumn day.

This led to her feeling abnormally self-conscious. Knowing she must be a sight in her ill-fitting and tattered clothing that hung like a sack off her malnourished and diminutive frame, coupled with her pale complexion, hollowed cheeks and nest of hair. That's before you even considered the injuries she had sustained holding her own against Pierre, the black eye, busted lip and obvious lack of good posture due to a particularly vicious blow she had sustained to her ribs.

Hermione felt an over-whelming sense of shame erupt within her. She had no idea where it came from but she felt for some reason that she would do anything not to disappoint this girl… who she suddenly realised was still inclined slightly below her.

Attempting to take some initiative and take control of the situation she extended a hand to the blonde. Thankfully the girl accepted although their eyes remained locked even when Hermione had drawn her to her feet. A flash of surprise appeared in the blue eyes that also held indications of a fierce temperament, rather similar to hers and intelligence. The surprise (she presumed) originated from her physical ability.

Without noticing words subconsciously began to flow from her mouth, " _Sorry Miss, I didn't mean to knock you over, please accept my sincerest apologies,"_ a short bow accompanied her words in a gesture of respect. Clearly the beauty was one of upper class birth and breeding, an air of refinement emanated from within her very being.

" _Hey!"_ The young girl's head snapped around eye's narrowing in fierce determination and the taller boy heading towards them. _'What do you think you're doing London? I'm not done with you!_ ' The boy's speech was rough and Hermione smirked again at the obvious discomfort he was in. She took the most comfort in his high pitched voice.

Before she could react beyond her self-satisfaction and internal praise she had been hauled away and to the wall of the orphanage. She had caught a glimpse of the grimy faces pressed up against the thin glass. This gave her courage, which she then proceeded to ball up in the pit of her stomach as she spat at him.

It was surprisingly on target and mixed with the other fluids marring and running down his face, including the blood that still flowed in rivulets from his nose. The look on Pierre's face almost made Hermione feel better about the shock and fear that was present on the girl that she had knocked over. The key word here being almost.

Again that irrational feeling of shame swelled up inside of her, suddenly the murderous glare Pierre was sporting was no longer amusing or satisfactory. Willing herself not to think of the consequences she felt she would face with the girl whose name she so desperately desired, she once more gathered her courage before screwing her eyes shut.

Hopefully Pierre would at least have the decency to give her a quick death.

...

Fleur was captivated. A sense of empowerment overtook her as those wells of molten chocolate held her gaze. Never before had she experienced such depths in human eyes. Intelligence sparked there along with a wildness which matched the sharpness of the creature's wit in terms of presence while maintaining a balance.

Both intellect and emotion were present in abundance. It made sense really. A fiery temperament was visible in the burning pools. After what felt to a young Fleur an eternity, she successfully broke eye contact. It unnerved her to stop.

Standing there was a young girl who looked all the younger due to her ill-fitting and tattered clothing, paired with hollow cheeks from obvious malnourishment likely resulting in her diminutive size. Despite her small stature and undoubtedly scrawny build the girl had a presence about her. A commanding air that didn't befit her status.

She found this both curious and concerning. Had her mother been there she would have immediately started on her for attempting to rise above her station. This, Fleur observed only in the passing. Despite the knowledge she held, which was considerable in comparison to most teenagers, this had little impact on her. The relevance was lost. Her inspection continued.

Brown hair that bore a tint of auburn lay tousled atop the girls head. A very light smattering of freckles were visible on the girls cheeks. They were light enough to be unnoticeable for the most part. Especially under the layers of grime that seemed to have built on top of one another over the years spent in

Hastily the girl shook her scraggly mousey brown hair out of her face revealing a pale complexion. It remained a tousled mass on top of her head. The girl's efforts appeared futile as clumps, not just strands resumed their original positions- likely blocking her visage. She was sure that the reason for this was poverty. It appeared that grime had built up over years to become a permanent fixture.

Fleur was partly grateful as it gave her further opportunity to ogle the vision before her. At the same time a great rage ran through her at the hardships she had suffered. Surprisingly this didn't knock her off kilter at all.

The ferocity of the girl's expression, on the other hand, did shock her- although it rapidly softened into curiosity and.. something else. What that something was remained to be seen however. Fleur wasn't really given an opportunity to think on it as she extended a hand to help Fleur on to her feet. _'Sorry Miss, I didn't mean to knock you over.'_

Fleur found it to be a rather chivalrous gesture. As their hands touched it felt as though a current had passed through the points of contact. She could see her own curiosity at the discovery reflected in that of the other half in this exchange. The girl calmed noticeably, cheeks slightly rosy as though in embarrassment. A rush of heat and empowerment flowed through her as the girl averted her eyes slightly.

Her eyes widened slightly as she realised she had yet to release her hand. However something compelled her to tighten her grasp.

Although the girl's apology was clearly genuine, it was hard to miss the fact that it lacked her full focus. Something was distracting her.

Still caught up in the moment, Fleur only noticed the sharp turning of the girls head and the light brush of her thumb over her own knuckles. The reassuring gesture caught her off guard. She was so shocked that it took a while to register the fact that another's hand no longer held her own.

_"Fleur! Why did you go off without me?"_ The reprimand was sharp but had little effect on Fleur. At that moment her ears may as well have been made from cloth. That was the extent to which she understood her mother, her alpha.

She perceived her alright but only at the most basic level, not even turning to greet or offer a sign of deference and respect as was her duty. Unforgiveable and often punishable by one. Her attention was transfixed on the fierce girl. She couldn't be older than six yet still she stood up to the lanky lad. In terms of build they were similar unfortunately she was dwarfed by him so the advantage was thrown.

Fleur worried her bottom lip, prepared to step in for this girl who had so profound an effect upon her. Unconsciously she took as step forward, only to falter, a chill running down her spine, recoiling when she heard her mother's voice. Immediately her back went ramrod straight her movements mechanical as she turned towards her. The fear not hidden though it should be.

Fortunately it appeared her mother was not particularly paying attention to her at that very moment. Rather a number of things occurred in quick succession leading her to be standing more than slightly shocked in what appeared to be a kitchen. Her eyes bounced off the scarred surface of the work surfaces and grimy paint on the walls.

She was currently attempting to distract herself as her mother worked to clean up the girl and rouse her from her state. A sharp gasp caught her attention as Apolline quickly reassured the girl in a low voice before she left to inform the nuns of her recovery. Fleur barely caught the order thrown back over her shoulder directed at herself.

Fleur tentatively offered her hand to the girl who graciously took it. Once again Fleur saw the spark of curiosity flare brightly in those emotive eyes as an undeniable feeling of.. something significant ran through them both. If Fleur weren't so occupied with wanting to learn more about the angelic being she would have been ashamed of her sudden lack of vocabulary.

_'My name is Fleur Delacour,'_ she introduced herself. The other brushed her lips against Fleurs' knuckles in yet another old timey gesture of good will and gentlemanly behaviour, leading her to blush prettily, _'It is a pleasure to meet you Miss Fleur, my name is Hermione.'_

_..._

Hermione was glad to have had the chance to finally learn the older girl's name, she was fairly sure she was older anyway. She was even more glad to have had someone with her as the girl's mum, Apolline, finished speaking with Sister Marissa and turned her sights on her. Although she appreciated it, she knew that she wouldn't have had Fleur not asked.

_Asked probably isn't the right word,_ she thought chancing a glance sideways at the blonde before squeezing her hand reassuringly and stroking it. She noted the girls mixed reaction to the news that she would be going home with her. Surprise, worry, happiness. None of the disgust that was so blatantly obvious radiating from Fleur's mother. Hermione couldn't help but feel a certain relief at this.

A change in atmosphere alerted her to the fact that they were no longer making their way down the street.

_Strange._

Of course exhaustion quickly took hold when Fleur rushed the two into what she presumed must be the girl's bed chamber. She couldn't see much of it in the darkness but below her feet the carpet was plush and warm. No protest crossed her lips when she was dragged onto what she was sure must be a real bad. Normally she would have fought, normally she would have inquired, however such was the nature of her tiredness and strange ease that she fell asleep as she was surrounded by warmth and comfort.


	2. A Rough Start

Hermione sat perched on the edge of the bed. Hands twined in the sheets, knuckles white with the strain. Her expression set on stoney, muscles strained. The picture painted, one of anticipation.

Her head snapped up to the sound of the door opening, facial features immediately relaxing. A lazy semi- smile spread as her godchild darted around Ducat and launched herself at her. _Not unlike.. no that was different._ Mentally she berated herself for even thinking of the past, even as she wrapped her arms to embrace the little girl.

Gabrielle’s laugh was infectious as she squeezed with all the strength in her lithe body as her mother looked on in amusement.

Hermione turned her attention to the woman, whom she owed so much. The woman who, truth be told, was as much her mother as Gabby’s.

…

_The silence pressed heavily on Hermione's ears waking the young girl from her impromptu slumber. The last thing she recalled was being led a short distance from the orphanage by Madame Delacour. This, she recalled, was after Sister Marissa had informed her that she was now to stay with her. Although the older Delacour had not been overly warm it had not perturbed the young girl as she had never truly experienced any. However she was intelligent and had realised that Madame Delacour's speech was more commanding and clipped than the nuns._

_For the second time that day the young girl's brow furrowed. This was not a common occurrence as Hermione was exceptionally bright for one with limited resources and so rarely found something complex enough to puzzle her._

_While her mind remained occupied trying to ascertain Madame Delacour's motivation for taking her in her body struggled to accustom itself to the surface upon which she was currently resting. The dark surrounding her was not one that she was familiar with having slept in a room that was in disrepair with seven other children. There light always found a way to creep in even with the thick fumes and pollution that were found in the city._

_Hermione may have been more at ease had she been on a surface that was not raised and less suffocating. In the orphanage the mat they had slept on had been just that, much akin in comfort to one used for gymnastics, not the thick squishy ones but the flat hard ones, not that Hermione could make that distinction having never really being anywhere other than the orphanage and surrounding streets. To add to her discomfort a rather heavy duvet had been placed over the young girl._

_At this her thoughts regarding her placement in this unforeseen circumstance ceased. Still none the wiser she began to take further stock of her surroundings. It was then that she realised she was not alone. This had been unsurprisingly easy to miss given the tendency of the children in the orphanage to stick together for comfort. The similarities in predicament however stopped there._

_Curled beside her was Fleur. Unsure as to what she should do Hermione lay frozen. Luckily or perhaps unluckily for her, it was then that Apolline Delacour decided to make an appearance._

_At the sharp inhale of breath Hermione sat bolt upright and scrambled rapidly from the bed stumbling and hitting the floor rather heavily on her knees. Looking up she saw the look of suppressed anger on the woman's face. At this she rapidly lowered her eyes and spotted, in the corner a pillow and throw. Having deduced the arrangement s that had been made for her realization dawned on the child. Cautiously Hermione stood, eyes remaining downcast for fear of meeting Madame Delacour's gaze._

_Although the half-Veela approved of this, that did not excuse the filth's previous actions. 'Come here child,' she snapped, not raising her voice but the authority in it was enough that it sent a shiver of fear through the young girl. The girl carefully walked forwards, not scurrying but clearly understanding the unspoken order to make haste. As the child was coming to a stop, Apolline firmly back-handed it._

_This not only snapped Hermione's head back but also sent her careening to the floor. 'You will learn to be grateful and not take advantage of this coven's generosity. Let this be a lesson to you not to try my patience again.' It was said so coldly Hermione wished she could sink into the floor and seemed to be attempting to do so. The girl didn't spare a thought to what the woman by coven and merely murmured out a, 'Yes Madame.'_

_Apolline let out a snarl her words laced with derision. 'Speak up! Your station does not excuse you from practising basic social graces.'_

_Hermione knew that it would not bode well for her if she stayed down. Scrambling to her feet, precariously leaning her weight on one leg she raised her gaze to rest slightly below her new guardian's knees._

_'I apologise Madame for my error and accept why I was wrong. I will not make the same mistake again.' Despite not having consciously done anything wrong and being fairly certain that her fuzzy memory told her she hadn't unconsciously done so either, Hermione decided it was best to be cautious._

_Fleur stirred which drew her mother's attention, 'For your sake that had better hold true child. Adrienne!'_

_At her call a woman in simple garb came through the door head bowed hand clasped before her. 'Adrienne shall take you to the facilities that you shall use to cleanse yourself and will fit you out in,' at this she paused, 'suitable clothing.'_

_It was clear to Hermione by both her use of the word cleanse and the connotations attached to it that she did not think much of her. This along with the insinuations about her current clothing did not help her puzzlement, however she meekly replied, 'Thank you Madame,' this time making sure to speak clearly as she could._

_At this Adrienne turned to leave the room indicating that Hermione should follow._

_Apolline stared after them, eyes narrowed. She did not trust the girl, nor did she like her however it seemed that she would learn her place quickly. If not she would be put it in it and learn to assume it._

_With that last, Apolline left her daughter and the room swiftly not looking back. In her mind at that moment she should be grateful that she was left to her rest. After all it was for her that the filth would be residing with the coven._

_…_

_Although Hermione had discovered herself miraculously free of injuries after her fight with Philippe and had rested briefly, already she was reverting to her earlier state. Mentally sapped, physically weary and with bruises taking their sweet time flowering. As Adrienne had led her through the exuberant house to a much simpler wing of what could have been a castle, Hermione's eyes had widened reflexively. Despite the fact that at this time nothing was really registering, she would later realize that all she observed had remained in her memory for perusal at her leisure._

_From the way Adrienne was explaining things however she doubted there would be much leisure to enjoy. Not that Hermione particularly minded. Keeping busy prevented boredom and frustration building, this suited the young girl just fine as she had anger in abundance without being aggravated by a lack of things to do. During the fight with Philippe, she had somehow managed to keep a lid on it even though she was sure that it showed in her body language._

_She decided that whatever Adrienne had to say would prove important. For this reason Hermione made a conscious effort to take it on board now so that later she could turn it over when all technical points had been made clear._

_"As mate to a Delacour, especially the granddaughter of their leader, you will be expected to cater to any and all of the Veela's requests without exception. If you are asked to do something that you are not comfortable with, you are to do it anyway. If you have anything to say you are to hold your tongue unless acknowledging one of their number with the correct honorific attached. Clear so far?" Adrienne was soft spoken and although slightly brusque in her manner spoke not unkindly to her._

_Hermione responded with a slight duck of her head, "Yes Madame." Adrienne turned back to her with a horrified look upon her face as though she had been struck, much like she herself had not too long ago. "You are not to address me as such! The trouble it would cause the both of us.." at this she shuddered, "it does not bear thinking about." Hermione's brow creased slightly, "Well then what am I to call you?"_

_The expression on her mentor's face softened. She realised that the young girl was likely confused. She had been shocked when she was shown the girl that was to be the newest member of, for lack of a better word, the staff. Having experienced similar problems when she had first arrived it wasn't difficult to see where Hermione was coming from. As the girl appeared well read and had not once questioned her as to the meaning of what she had said Adrienne decided that she would be able to quickly grasp the concept of their role and circumstances. "You may call me Chauvin. It was my family name. None of the mates are may call any by their first names, or refer to ourselves as such. It is a reminder I would suppose." It was clear the girl was slightly shocked by the revelation and was finally beginning to get a grasp on the situation she had found herself thrust into. "Later I shall explain more and provide you with a tour of the areas in the house you are permitted and required to know. For now shower and change into the clothes that I have given you." As she finished her sentence she opened a door that they had stopped in front of ushering the girl in and closing it behind her._

_Hermione now registered that she had been carrying an identical set of clothes to the ones that Adrienne was wearing. Her mind reeled, not remembering when she had been presented with them. Quickly she washed herself the best she could, having never really been given the chance before, with hot water and lightly fragranced soap. The warm water, a rare commodity at the orphanage, one which she could clearly recall only having access to twice, helped to relax her sore body and perk her up slightly. Stepping out she dried herself well before donning the simple undergarments, dress and apron. Hermione tied her hair back with a plain black bobbin that had been left with them. Looking in the mirror she was surprised to find sunken eyes set above hollowed cheeks staring back. The consequences of her encounter with Apolline showed in a split lip alongside the darkening bruise. Her bones were clearly pronounced and the clothes fit her as well as a cloth sack._

_Deciding it wouldn't do to dally any further she exited the bathroom. A cursory inspection of her surroundings and she spotted Adrienne who had her back turned. Frowning slightly she discovered that Adrienne unlike herself was wearing a pair of shoes. Worn and beaten ones at that but more than she had. Adrienne spun around just as she was working up the courage to inquire about the privilege. However, that wish quickly subsided when she recalled the lesson that Apolline had taught her._

_Adrienne quickly ran her eyes over the girl taking in her wet hair and more than ill-fitting clothes. Without warning she set about adjusting the way the clothes sat on her young charge. Once more she ran a critical eye over her appearance appraising her. "Come. We shall get food and I will have one of the others tailor your clothes and dry your hair. Soon you will have to learn to mend your own clothing but for now Ducat will do it for you. I shall fill you in on the rest over the course of our meal and for the time that I can spare after." With that she turned once again on her heel and briskly began walking once more, Hermione trailing after._

…

_Even the mates wing was relatively large, although far less extravagant than the rest of the mansion. As such it took the two close to quarter of an hour to reach their destination. Along the way Hermione observed many other of the so called Veela 'mates,' this prompted her now active mind to question whether it was synonymous with servants. There was a clear hierarchy, marked by their attire although she had yet to learn what factors influenced the rankings._

_I suppose that is something to think on over tonight_ _. Her thoughts were halted there when once again the two came to a stop. This time in a kitchen more than twice the size of the house in which she grew up. She couldn't bring herself to think of it as a home. Already this place was beginning to feel like it despite the lack of enthusiasm of the Veela. Which begs the question, what the bloody hell ARE Veela? Once again she began to work up the courage to ask Adrienne- no, Chauvin - a question and once again she stopped short._

_This time it was due to the fact that before her dishes were scrubbing themselves. Her curiosity peaked at this strange sight. Although Hermione had been reading from a young age they were often factual books donated to the orphanage or religious texts that the nuns had_ _loaned her. She had never heard tell of magic. On the adjoining counter sat a chopping board and knife carving a large cooked bird. While she was taking in these new developments, Chauvin had tapped another woman on the shoulder._

_She turned to face her with a scowl blowing a strand of hair from her face and continued whisking the egg whites for the meringues. Upon discovering that it was Chauvin her scowl faded replaced by a furrowed brow after she rolled her eyes._ " _Yes? What is it?_ _"_

_Chauvin cast her gaze around for the girl before she found her, "Hermione, come." Swivelling around Hermione made her way over. "Meet Marcel Ducat. Of course you are to address her as Ducat."_

_At this Ducat cocked a brow. It was common knowledge in the Delacour residence that mates were only allowed to call others by their surname. Ducat's expression softened seeing the girl attempting to decipher her surprise. She wondered who the poor child was fated to be mated with. As it was it was clear that Hermione was not the girl's surname having seen Shakespeare as a child. She sent a look at Chauvin clearly indicating that she would later be grilled for an explanation. After she received a subtle nod of acquiescence, she returned her attention to the child. Having finished with the sugar she silently summoned the vanilla adding it to the mix before continuing to whisk._

_She allowed herself to run her eyes over the child properly, surprised at the clear markings on her face and the ginger way she held herself. Ducat gave a terse nod. "Hello." She would be lying if she told the girl she was happy to meet her. She couldn't bring herself to be happy for anyone who landed in this situation let alone a babe who had already experienced too much of a hard world if her appearance was any indication._

_Once more her gaze landed back on Chauvin. "What has happened? What is it you need?" Chauvin had the decency to look uncomfortable even as she drew herself up to her full height. "The girl," came the reply, "I require your assistance in speeding up her recovery." Ducat was beginning to understand. "Take a seat child, I will see to you once the meringues are in the oven."_

_Despite the fact that she could easily have spelled it there, she took the opportunity to breathe, to compose herself. She gave herself more time by washing her hands and drying them on a rag._

_Hermione watched this woman, who like herself was not wearing shoes, or socks for that matter. She spotted a mark on the back of her thigh but before she could identify it she found herself caught._

_Ducat was puzzled as to why the girl was looking at her so quizzically. Then it dawned on her. She glared accusingly at Chauvin who merely raised her chin in false bravado. She had not yet learned why she was there. Not truly. Internally Ducat was horrified that she had been lead into this blind, externally she displayed only frustration and exasperation. She knelt before Hermione, placing work roughened hands on her wounds while reciting healing spells. Even though she had ignored it the woman's worry only became exacerbated when Hermione flinched. She continued anyway._

_When she was finished she rocked back on her heels and stood. "Are you feeling any better child?" She asked this gently so as not to startle her. A thoughtful look graced her features as the child nodded, "Thank you Ducat." A genuine smile curled one corner of her lips before she turned once more to Chauvin sending her a terse nod. "If that is all," with that she turned on her heel and returned to her cooking, trying not to give too much thought to the girl. She sensed that her life would be harder than most and wondered what it was she had experienced when she touched her. For a second her pupils had dilated and taken on an orange hue only to return back to their original size and colour a split second later. She wondered whether she had imagined it. Not my business, not my place, she reasoned, shaking her head to clear it of her thoughts. If she returned to her work more zealously with the intention of forgetting, no one noticed. Or if they did, none commented._

_Chauvin once more led Hermione from the kitchen back almost the whole way out of the wing they were currently in silently. She preceded the girl into the small chamber closing the door firmly behind her once she had entered. The room was occupied only by a simple bed. Although she was not yet old enough to know the significance of the sparse furnishing or the single room, she felt a pang of guilt in her heart knowing what was to come in the years that followed._ _"This is to be your room, you are to remain here until I retrieve you in the morning."_

_Hermione nodded her understanding as her mentor left. She lay back with the intention of sorting through the day in mind however she couldn't think for tiredness and discomfort. Not only was the bed far more than she was used to, her stomach protested at the lack of even the meagre portions of food it usually received. It seemed that in all the tension between Ducat and Chauvin, the promise of a meal had been forgotten. Shrugging it off, having gone longer without sustenance, Hermione slipped onto the floor taking the blanket with her. She curled up beneath it, with the knowledge that tomorrow things would be made clear, she never realised that she had fallen asleep._

_…_

Hermione always had been a light sleeper. At least while she had been residing at the orphanage. Seen as that was the only time she could remember she felt perfectly comfortable with always, _it fits after all, why bother worrying about technicalities?_

For this reason she was surprised, when it was only upon Chauvin's entry to the room that she woke. Hermione bolted upright out of shock and habit. Having stayed in the orphanage with a strong religious ethos, the children were regularly roused early to wash with rags and water from the pump before morning mass was held by a local parish priest.

Hermione had observed enough the day prior to have come to the conclusion that Chauvin was valued by Apolline and – she presumed – in extension, by the other Veela. She blinked, again coming to the realisation that she still hadn't a clue as to who or what the Veela were. The what, came into play after the display she had encountered with Ducat the previous day. Despite the short time spent in the older woman's company and the limited interaction between them, already fondness accompanied the memory.

Chauvin simply stood watching the young girl, her brow furrowed, eye's not glazed but clearly her mind wasn't there. She was curious as to why the girl lay on the floor as opposed to the bed that had been provided. It didn't appear that she had rolled off in the night, the sheets were still crisp as when they were placed on it.

Hermione then remembered why she was sitting up. Standing she folded her blanket and placed it on the bed before facing Chauvin.

Without preamble Chauvin began to speak, enough time had been wasted. " _Come there is much to be done. First you must wash. Leave the clothes on the floor of the shower room, inside you will find all the toiletries you may require along with a towel to dry yourself with. Be quick and thorough."_ Her nose wrinkled slightly when she worked out that the girl had slept in her clothes.

Hermione wondered if her brisk manner had anything to do with Apolline's clear preference of her. Internally she shook her head. Although Ducat was gentle with her, she could tell that disruption to the flow of things would not be tolerated. _"Of course Chauvin. I will be brief." It wouldn't do to get on the wrong side of her,_ Hermione thought, not for the first time. She had noticed the woman's less than pleasant appraisal of her. With that, she left to use the facilities.

...

_Like the previous day she found herself in the kitchen and like before Ducat was there. Her lip quirked upon seeing her again._

_Ducat could not suppress the small smile that graced her features, a genuine one towards this young girl. So much that she doesn't know, so much with which she will required to deal. Although this put a slight damper on her mood she did not allow this to show. Even the girl didn't notice adept as she was at reading emotion and character. She recalled that her name was Hermione but decided to simply address her as child. It will cause her less trouble, perhaps she will trust me, allow me to guide her. Ducat's gaze flickered to Chauvin again. Her face returned to it's blank, bordering on stony setting. Perhaps I can take on the child as an apprentice._

_Chauvin noticed Ducat looking in her direction. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. It seemed there would be more trouble with this bastard than she had hoped. Apolline had informed her of the girl's heritage, what was known of it at any rate._

_The mother conceived the child with another man out of wedlock. When it came to light that the child could not be that of her husband as he was infertile, not to mention the babie’s.. addition, she had been left on the doorstep of the orphanage, a bastard. A note had explained the circumstance of her birth and the decision given the husband wouldn't raise another being's spawn.. Rightly so, she thought bitterly._

_This Apolline had learned when she spoke with the head sister in charge. Originally she had tried to dismiss her mate's qualms, only to herself of course, to do otherwise would invite.. nothing that would be any good. Besides she knew her place. Fortunately she had been instructed what to do should the need arise._

_"Hermione! Sit while food is organised for you," Chauvin snapped._

_Ducat's eyes widened slightly. She knew what this meant for the girl. Raising her chin slightly she vowed silently to do all she could to teach, protect and care for the child. With Chauvin openly declaring her view of the girl - no doubt that of her mate - things were going to become still more difficult. She could never predict how true this would be but even with what she envisaged, it was more than most could cope with. However she would do right by this child, make her strong._

_Hermione jumped. While Chauvin had never been overly warm towards her there had at least been civility between them. Now however there was only thinly veiled hostility. Her gaze met that of the older woman. Cold and closed off. Finally it clicked in her mind. Madame Delacour was her mated Veela! She scoffed inwardly, youth is no excuse, how could I have missed this?_

_Ducat observed the exchange, strategically placing herself between her senior and the child. The hairs on the back of her neck bristled, knowing what this display of insubordination would mean however she stood tall. Gently but firmly she clasped the girls shoulder. "Come child let's find you something to eat." She spoke softly trying to convey her support to the young girl before her, the one that had clearly seen hardship and would see yet more._

_Hermione tilted her head back slightly to look at the woman, who it appeared, was to take her under her wing. She nodded, slowly but without hesitation. "Thank you Ducat," she enunciated clearly. As Ducat steered her away she took one last glance at Chauvin and the fire burning in her eyes before gathering her resolve and staring forward. She knew this snub would not go unnoticed, and if her second encounter with Apolline Delacour was anything to go by, it would not go unpunished._

_…_

_After the simple meal of bread and soup, Ducat led the child to a multi-purpose room. She knew it would not be long before trouble found them. Despite this she was determined to give the girl a grounding in some of the more crucial intricacies of life with Veela. She had no doubt the girl would pick up the rest._

_Again she scanned her young charge. She would need some work, with bones protruding and her petite stature. Waving her wand she summoned a basket containing sewing basic supplies._

_While this was going on Hermione took the chance to take in her surroundings. The room was furnished with several simple wooden tables and chairs, a fireplace, a blackboard and a short three legged stool. From a press in the corner a wicker basket came flying in their direction. Having already seen similar she was no longer surprised by such an occurrence._

_Ducat having caught the supplies observed the girl with mild amusement. "It's magic child."_

_Hermione nodded not understanding but not questioning the statement either._

_"Come," too busy trying not to think, Ducat didn't notice this, rather odd reaction from a child. She indicated the school that now stood beside her. Once the girl was up she immediately set a tape measure to work. She pinned and stitched and cut until she was satisfied with the fit on the child._

_Hermione flung herself at her mentor. Now not only had she clean, fairly new clothes, but they fit as well! More than she had ever hoped for. Back in the orphanage, there was no such thing as clean clothes. The dirt had practically become part of the fabric, she feared what would happen if it were washed out. Quite possibly it was the only thing holding it together. She wouldn't have been surprised. New and fitting was a joy to have. Never before could she remember such luxury._

_Ducat was glad the girl was happy, could only imagine what her life was before that she would find this to be an improvement. But she also knew that it didn't come without a price. She dreaded when she would have to ask the council for permission to apprentice the child, that didn't even begin to hold a candle to what Apolline had planned. She made a mental note to fix the child's other clothes and to try and sneak substantial sustenance, such as meat and fresh vegetables into her diet._

_Hermione enjoyed the comfort and warmth afforded by this simple act. She pulled back as Ducat set her down._

_The older woman smiled gently, "Sit. There are some things we must discuss. If you have any questions the time is now, however I would ask that you not interrupt for there is much you must know." Already Ducat had made the decision not to hold back anything regarding her predicament from the child._

_Hermione seated herself at one of the tables as Ducat put back the supplies. She straightened when she positioned herself opposite her._

_"Firstly would you like anything with which to write down any questions you have so that you do not forget?"_

_"I don't know how to."_

_Ducat was shocked. "Can you read?" The girl nodded in response slowly her eyes lowered. The sight was heart breaking, as she was rapidly beginning to think of the girl as her own. It sent a pang of pain through her, because she knew what her own were like and what they thought of her. She wasn't even sure whether they knew they were hers- but that was beside the point, she couldn't allow herself to be side tracked. The most she could do was give this child a good life._

_"Alright, here's what we'll do." She drew out from within her clothes a feather. She chuckled lightly at the girl’s sceptical look. "This is a quill, it is pre-inked much like a muggle pen. If you suck on the end, the nib, it will take on your personality in terms of thoughts and jot down any questions that you come up with. Not all quills are like this and once you have learned to write you will use one even more similar to a pen."_

_Hermione marvelled at this and the woman who was being so kind to her. She was in awe and extremely grateful, "Thank you!" So excited was she in fact that her exclamation came out more of a squeak than anything else._

_Ducat suppressed a sad smirk at the enthusiasm before her. If only things had been- but no. "We must get on with it now," she said this part out loud without meaning to. However since it fit the situation, there was no suspicion on the part of, what she knew must be and exceptionally bright young girl. Again she reached inside her clothes and pulled out a roll of parchment. "Balance the quill on its end," she instructed._

_Hermione did as she was told._

_"Come let us begin. To start, this is Delacour Castle. Since the Delacour coven was established they have resided here. Don't think of them as an organization, rather as a large extended family. This is in keeping with Veela tradition. Although we are mated to those within the coven, we remain outsiders. The coven comprises of many, for this reason there is a hierarchy, which we will get to later. In Veela society, the Delacour coven are the ruling class, outside of this they are a large and influential family. They hold sway in both the Muggle and the Wizarding world." Here she paused briefly and took a swig from a flask attached to her belt. "Questions so far?"_

_Hermione glanced at the parchment. Her attention had been captivated by Ducat. Eyebrows raised upon seeing the questions written down. They were worded exactly as she had thought them. She decided then and there this, magic, was a force to be reckoned with. The ones that had been answered during the talk were struck through. Only one other had written itself over the course of the conversation. "What is muggle?"_

_Ducat was prepared for this, "Muggles are none magic folk. It is a term the magical community use to refer to them, although there are much more derogatory ones."_

_Hermione nodded and indicated for her to continue._

_Once more she took a swallow from the flask, before continuing. "Veela are of creature blood, that of a magical nature. They appear for the most part as beautiful women although when circumstances call for it or need is dire they transform. You don't want to ever experience a Veela transformation. It is not an easy feat for them to revert, their rage is legendary even in human form._

_"Veela mate with humans, muggle or wizard. It helps to strengthen the bloodline. Veela are always full Veela. They mate with only one for life. When a Veela dies so does its mate. For the most part, unless they are mortally wounded the Veela will always die first. However because of both their magical heritage and creature blood, they have a life span extended beyond that of a muggle. Being mated to one affords you the same benefit._

_"The Veela hierarchy is similar to that of a wolf pack. The alpha is at the top followed by the beta, they are usually the first born child of the alpha. The next level is the rest of the council. They have no real name other than council member. All other Veela are then on an equal footing until such time as there is a promotion or otherwise." Here she paused and motioned to the child to ask her questions._

_This time Hermione noticed, there were a number. "Are Veela always female? Are their mates? If so how do they reproduce?" (one of the books donated to the orphanage was a biology textbook)The questions ran like a stream._

_Ducat once again took a swallow from the flask. She grimaced, not only because of the rather sizeable amount that she had downed, but also because of the child. "Yes and yes to the first two. That is something that you will discover in time to the third."_

_Hermione pondered this. She could see the logic, albeit frustrating._

_Ducat stood. "All else, it is not my place to say. Much you will learn yourself, the rest I am not permitted to tell. That right only belongs to Veela." She signalled the girl to stand. "Let us go. There are many things that must be done." The main reason being the time. It would not do to remain here when the influx of other mates would be carrying out jobs for their mates. Nor would it do to bump into any Veela at this time. They would surely be on the prowl under orders of the council or worse and more likely, the direction of Apolline Delacour._

_…_

Unfortunately, as fate would have it, there was no avoiding the inevitable. One might argue sooner rather than later but in this case prolonging the wait would be much preferred. Despite her careful planning Ducat was unable to prevent the child's first encounter with Veela- barring Apolline and her daughter of course- and it could not have gone worse.

…

_Ducat squeezed her eyes shut and pressed the base of her palms against them as she sat perched on the edge of her bed remembering the disaster of a day so far. That was probably the biggest worry. The day wasn't over yet._

_Together they had been preparing lunch for the Veela. Ducat set the girl several menial tasks that she didn't think would be too demanding or unfair to the child. Ducat searched the cupboards for potatoes before realising that in the 'excitement,' of the previous day, the kitchen store hadn't been replenished. (Looking back on it, she chastised herself for not simply summoning more, no matter that her intention had been to bury her worry in physical work) Looking around quickly she caught the eye of another witch with whom she had a cordial working relationship. Nodding she exited the room, knowing Jean would watch the girl while she was gone._

_However she had neglected to tell the girl. (How this may have helped Hermione, she didn't understand. When Ducat later apologised she simply looked at her quizzically before asking what this would have changed.)_

_She came back to find the girl held by her arms behind her back by one while another Veela had her by the chin forcing her to maintain eye contact and hissed something at her. Ducat didn't hold the inaction of any of the mates against them. While not a death wish, some would argue it's not much better. To intercede on the behalf of another, especially where the Veela are concerned, is inviting trouble._

_Although knowing what it would mean for her and the child- not that there was any way it could get worse for the child, having already committed rather serious infractions-_

_Ducat was jerked out of her reminiscence by the door opening. Initially she thought her reaction was only so profound because she was hyperaware after the events that took place prior. Drawing her hands away from her face though, her heart dropped into her stomach realising the truth of the moment. It was with a mixture of fear, dread and love that she gazed upon the entrant. Her Veela. Say what you want about Apolline Delacour, in her mind Cécile was the most beautiful of the coven. As it should be, for this was the bond between mates._

_Her heart ached. It had been several months since she had last set eyes upon her mate._

_"Bonjour ma chérie," her voice dripped with a seductive quality not all that different to the one that had originally enchanted the young Marcel as an emerging adult. Being Veela her beauty and her nature had not diminished in the slightest. None of it._

_Ducat averted her gaze, finding a peeling corner of wallpaper fascinating as she responded, "Bonjour Madame Delacour."_

_Cécile tsked, striking her before grabbed her chin and raising it none too gently. "There will be no need for that. You will look me in the eye when I am talking to you," her tone was a cross between condescending and sickly sweet._

_Steeling herself Marcel responded, "Yes Madame." It came out close to a whisper, hesitant in contrast to her usually strong conviction._

_"That is better," once more her mate had reverted to English. Curious though she was, Marcel did her best to still her tongue, unsure what her mate's reaction would be to being questioned. "Come ma petite chou, it has not been so long that I have forgotten you, I know you.. intimately," here she stalled having reverted back to her seductive speech. "You wish to know why I speak in the English, oui?"_

_Knowing it would be hazardous to her health and potentially hurtful to her love Marcel did not point out that her speech was more 'franglais' than English. Rather she nodded cautiously, Cécile having loosened her grip slightly._

_"I would have thought it were obvious. I am here to speak about Hermione," at this Ducat shivered slightly flinching, for a split second her eyes closed before quickly realising the trouble it could cause, the punishment it would bring._

_Cécile's eyes narrowed ever so slightly before a smirk spread slowly across her face and she cocked her head slightly to one side. "So, you care for this enfant," she spat out enfant as though it were an insult to all children that the child was considered one. "Tell me my dear, what would you give me?"_

_Ducat's brow furrowed slightly, not noticing the switch back so confused was she by the question, "Madame?"_

_At this Cécile stepped away turning her back on her mate, knowing the effect it would have on her. The worry and tension that would be building inside her Marcel. "What would you give me? Hmm? For the little English bastard?" At this she turned around again and pressed her back to the door of the small cell. So small was it that should she wish she could reach out and touch her mate. She did, but no, she must come to her. It was the way of things._

_Ducat had dreaded this. She dropped to her knees before her mate, head bowed. She knew that she would be excused. That Cécile liked her to beg. She kept her gaze on her knees. It wasn't fair. The child had done nothing wrong. She was young and brilliant, undeserving of the prejudice she was being subjected to. The Veela treated her like crap and she hadn't even shown a trace of magical ability that normally would lead to this. Silently she pleaded with the child to forgive her. It was for her sake that she was doing this. Reaching up she grasped her mates hand and met her gaze._

_Cécile had one eyebrow cocked, either amused or interested, likely both. The desperation in her Marcel's eyes was clear._

_"If.." she paused voice raspy, "if the Veela council were to permit me to apprentice the child, to teach her.." Again she halted._

_Taking pity Cécile softened her words, "give me an offer my dear and I will see to it she is properly educated as well." She saw the effect this had on her mate who practically quaked._

_Ducat knew what this could mean for the girl. It would give her the best possible chance. To do that though, the price.. no she had sworn to care for her, no price was too great. "I," she cleared her throat and once more lowered her gaze, rocking slightly to comfort herself, "I will give you another child." She froze. It was done, now she could only hope._

_At this Cécile raised both eyebrows, her jaw dropping slightly. This was unexpected. The ultimate price really. She was surprised at the lengths her Marcel would go to for the bastard. After the last attempt, the miscarriage had shaken her beyond anything. Marcel had been heartbroken and refused to have another. It didn't matter what she did to her, punishment, pleading, nothing. Eventually their contact had lessened to once every few months. Before the last there had been nearly half a year. Five years on, not once had her stubborn Marcel's resolve been shaken, but now.._

_Marcel tucked her chin into her chest and wept silent tears. Her fists were clenched on her lap, fingers no longer fidgeting._

_The offer had come as a shock but her heart swelled for the pain of her mate. Cécile knelt before her, taking her hands in her own waiting for her Marcel to look up. In her eyes she could see the raw emotion. She gently wiped away her tears and brought their joined hands to her lips. Letting go, she rose to her feet and extended a hand._

_Ducat's eyes followed her mate's progress. "Come my love," she heard the words spoken as though through water. Feeling broken she shed fresh tears, as she stood she wiped them away. No more would she cry._

_Together they walked from the room with the knowledge that Ducat would not be returning for some time._

_…_

_Hermione gasped as she came to. At first, nothing was clear. Only disjointed thoughts and clips of events were available to her frantically working mind. Eyes heavy with lethargy, she drifted back into an unsettling rest. It was in the land of dreams that she began to remember._

_Hindsight is a bitch, she would think in later years. For now however she simply regretted engaging the Veela. Of course they would sneer and attempt to provoke her. Why would they not when their leader, their alpha, had less regard for her than the mud below her boots_ _. It came to her in flashes. The pot and its contents overturned, the false sympathy, the insults, the venomously sweet inflection they placed on her name, her retaliation, being lifted from her feet-_

_Again she jerked awake. This time her panic turning to the plight of Ducat. The woman who had been nothing but nice to her, a mother of sorts._

_…_

It would be six months before she saw Ducat. By that time the damage had been done.

…

The two shared a look as expressions settled once more to cautiously guarded. ‘ _Come child, there is much to do.’_ Hermione nodded her understanding even as she peeled the little angel from her person. She shot the woman a pleading look, receiving in return, a pitying acquiescence as she left the room to give her some time with her godchild.

Gabrielle squirmed out of her grasp, having decided that she much preferred sitting on top of her. " _What did you get me?"_ Her child like enthusiasm was infectious.

Hermione grinned when she caught sight of the girl’s toothy smile. Reaching up with one hand she brushed back several strands of wispy blonde hair behind her ear. Continuing her movement on the same path she reached around the back of her head before withdrawing with a small box.

The young Veela's eyes widened despite having seen many similar and more extravagant displays of magic her whole life – all two years of it so that would explain the continued amazement. It just so happened that it was two years exactly since the day she had been born.

Hermione gently lifted Gaby and positioned her back on top of herself so that she could sit up. Opening the box she removed its contents before clasping it gently in a closed fist, before putting both hands behind her back. " _Guess which hand."_

Gaby's brow furrowed slightly and she pouted as she contemplated it. The thoughtful yet childish expression had the older girl supressing a laugh. Deciding to be safe the birthday girl grabbed both of her Aunts arms and brought them in front.

Amused Hermione opened her left hand to display a flower. Blowing gently it revealed a number of butterflies that landed on the Veela's nose and cheeks causing her to giggle. She then made her hair into a bun and wrapped the flower around to keep it in place. Then opening the other hand she revealed a chain that bore two pendants, a dove holding an olive branch in its beak and a cross. The entire piece was silver to compliment the child's physical appearance.

She put it on and tucked it into the top of Gaby's tshirt.

Suddenly her arms were full and she had nearly been knocked back by a teary comet. " _Thank you Auntie, this is the best present ever."_ Hermione kissed her hair and held her tight for a time before the child finally relented. She then wiped her eyes and kissed both cheeks. " _You are welcome Gaby,"_ came the soft whisper. This was followed by her once again having her arms full of the little angel.

_Perhaps, today will be quiet?_ Inwardly Hermione scoffed. As if that would ever happen.


	3. Yule

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was meant to go to a New Year's Eve party last night but then plans changed and I ended up being the epitome of Irish stereotype with my Guinness. I worked through the night to bring ye' this chapter so if it's crap well.. Anyhow I am looking for a beta if anyone is interested in much improving this through both grammar and the like and quality of writing. (I'd offer cookies but I'm in rather short supply). Enjoy if you can. If not, I can easily recommend a number of brilliant authors for this pairing as well as others. Cheers guys, happy New Year and all that craic, 'til next time.

**Chapter Three: Celebration of sorts**

_“What-?”_

_“Come now Fleur, you are supposed to be Veela. Or don’t you know your mate when you see them?” She watched her mother curl, her lip in frustration and – judging by the look in her eyes- disgust. It might have been comical, how wide her eye’s got, were it not for the seriousness of the matter._

_Her mate? She had found her mate? It was a rarity for such a thing to occur at her age. Her excitement and intellectual interest quickly vanished in the face of understanding. Fleur’s stomach turned as she understood, turning to face the girl where she knelt, held by two of the mated. It didn’t escape her notice that they were a human pair. Of course they were, she reprimanded herself mentally._

_Fleur’s attention was commanded once more as her mother circled the girl and drew back her head by the hair._

_“You know what must be done!” The exclamation so cold and impersonal, yet commanding._

_Once more her eye’s widened, this time in fear. True she had seen the way the mates were treated, so often she had joined in, yet when faced with her own.._

_“Fleur!” She was snapped out of her thoughts by her mother barking her name._

_“You know what you must do. She is both..” at this Apolline paused momentarily, disgust causing bile to rise at the very thought, “magical and beast.”_

_At this Fleur froze, breath hitched. She knew what this meant, it was required that the girl be branded clearly, her mother would settle short for nothing less. However there was an interruption as her grandmother stepped forward, to speak in hushed tones to her daughter._

_Apolline’s countenance darkened as a scowl twisted itself onto her face by what she had heard. Not only was another standing for the child and the mate untouchable due to her expecting, but there was also a prophecy. She snapped her head around to face her mother, whose eye’s coolly observed her. She had no choice. Yet her eye’s narrowed in thought, a cruel smile curling her lips upward, even as she grew to despise the little beast still more._

_She nodded in reverence and her mother backed away._

_Fleur watched as her mother cleared her throat. The small hairs on the back of her neck bristled at her expression. Turning to one of the mates holding the girl she nodded, “her hand.”_

_Even at the revelation of Hermione’s dual nature not a stir occurred, yet at this declaration, a great wave of unease went through the room. Apolline fixed her daughter in her gaze before magicking a brand into her hand._

_In hindsight, she should have seen this coming. The past two days lessons’ had revolved around the culture of mates in the Delacour clan._

_“Now Fleur.”_

_There was no room to manoeuvre, she had to do it. Stepping forward she started to chant even as the others hummed lowly, every step forward, every second that passed, the pace sped up and the volume increased. As she drew closer a surge of magic passed through her, causing a cold sweat and the brand to glow in her grasp._

_As the song reached its crescendo, Hermione met her gaze just as Fleur stepped forward to complete it. Hand shaking she carefully applied it to the girl’s hand, in the spot she felt would most easily be hidden. Her mother glared, as the three backed away from the girl, leaving the two together. Hermione crumpled to her knees even as the magic ensured eye contact remained. The pain could be seen in the other girls’ eyes just before they went emotionally blank._

_Fleur reached around and held her angel as she sealed the magic’s hold on her mate._

_…_

Fleur woke with a start, bolting upright. She took deep breaths trying to get her heartrate to slow, as she combed slim fingers through her hair.

It had been two and a half years since that day. Still the sight of Hermione closing herself off, haunted her sleeping hours.

Since then, every encounter had been tense and fragile between them. Sometimes moments were electric and others merely awkward. Every time left her more frustrated though, as she struggled to connect with the sweet girl, her Veela had recognised as its mate.

Tradition dictated that she choose the wardrobe for her mate, at least until the two were fully bonded, at which point she would take the uniform of the area in which she would serve in the Delacour mansion, when not personally attending to Fleur. In a reminder of their first encounter and her feelings for the girl, she gifted her clothes that she felt suited her mate.

The only things she was forbidden by custom, were shoes. In accordance with this, every outfit the girl possessed, consisted of jeans, shirts, waistcoats and plain socks.

Understanding the need for the bonding and accepting it, were two different things. It would take several years, in the company of predominately Veela of her own age, before she would fully learn how she was expected to behave.

Fleur showered and dressed in a soft blouse and skirt. She knew it would contrast strongly to the present that she would today give to Hermione for the Yule celebration. Excitedly she brushed out her silver-blonde hair until it sat in a silky sheet atop her head and across her shoulders. Tonight would be their first night as a bonded pair even though it would be a while before it was completed.

The second Yule after meeting was the set date after which a Veela and their mate would reside together. It was written in their laws, though such a thing hadn’t been recorded since the conception of the Delacour clan. Not at their age. Nevertheless, it would be so.

Now more than ever.

Fleur stood tall as she examined her reflection on her cupboard door, before spraying her favourite bottle of perfume so that she lightly smelled of vanilla.

Carefully she clutched the Yule parcel for her mate, to her chest as she walked to the kitchen where her morning tea had already been prepared. A refreshing concoction of weak tea, poured over ice, with the juice of a lemon. Just the way she liked it.

Fleur knew that Hermione had made it, as she was the one to first give it to the girl. Since then it had been her favourite drink, much like the fragrance she favoured.

Although she was not entirely oblivious to the going ons of the household, or the general treatment of the mates, she was still naïve and unaware of the extent to which they served, as she wondered where her mate currently was.

…

Hermione’s eyes were closed, her brow furrowed. Had it been seen out of context one may have simply assumed that she were deep in thought. That was common enough for the young girl after all. However the grimace that followed betrayed her.

 The sharp sting of the lash prevented any thought beyond the blinding pain that she experienced.  _At least it’s getting easier to bear._ She nearly laughed at this notion, would have done too except for the fact that a blow landed at that exact moment, knowing the air out of her in an almost gasp. She choked back the sound as best she could and opened her eyes. Consciously she softened her gaze although she kept up the barriers that wouldn’t allow Apolline the satisfaction of seeing how she felt and meting out more lashes for it.

_What has Fleur gotten herself into this time?_ Inwardly she felt for the girl but that was buried under feelings of annoyance, hurt and anger. Hermione could see the spark in her mate’s mother’s eyes. The glint that hinted at displeasure and disgust. As though it were Hermione’s fault the floor was being sullied and not her daughter’s. _Although,_ she mused, _that could be part of it too couldn’t it._

 All of a sudden the punishment stopped and she was left hanging as the Veela rounded her dropping the whip to the floor between herself and Apolline, bowing respectfully on her way out. Apolline gave a curt nod, seemingly transfixed on the girl. She had learned to guard herself from the invasive gaze.

“ _Until the next time Hermione.”_ With that she turned on her heel and left. No more was said. No more was required.

Hermione braced herself. She could never be sure when it would happen. This time it was when the door fully closed. Although prepared she was still surprised that it was so short. Apolline must have been a loose cannon before if this didn’t relieve her tension. Then again, that she didn’t trust herself to deal with her was telling in itself.

Immediately she rose to her feet from where she had collapsed to her knees on the concrete. Waving her hand in a sweeping motion the floor was cleaned. She removed her shirt and incanted two spells, one after another, “ _Scourgify! Reparo!”_

Sadly she smiled at the garment before slipping it back over her head. It had been a present.. from Fleur. At this thought her blood began to boil. Why would she continue causing trouble knowing what it did to her? Did she not care at all? She shook her head to clear it. Now was not the time.

She stood straighter before cleaning her slacks. Nothing would ruin this day for Gaby.

…

Ducat smiled upon sensing Hermione’s arrival into the work room. The worry turned to tender care. She knew of what the girl had endured although she herself had never been quite as unfortunate. Looking up, the sight caused her chest to swell with pride and sadness. She had grown so much her intellect along with her emotions and physical being gave her the impression of a rather short woman who had seen all of life’s miseries and not enough positives.

What was worse she couldn’t tell her anything that she wasn’t permitted. The bond ensured that. Her mate could only do so much. Her stomach did a half-hearted flip when she thought of Cécile. 

Hermione’s countenance brightened upon seeing her pseudo-mother and godchild.

Gabrielle having spent so much time with her Tante had picked up her intelligence and love of knowledge. Noticing the change in her Maman she leapt off her lap and took a running jump at Hermione who caught her laughing. She swung her in a circle before cradling her to her chest and pressing a kiss into her fair locks. _So much like.. but no I musn’t think of that, of her-_ she cut herself off rapidly.

Gently she lowered herself to the ground and drew back from the two year olds embrace. _“Now my darling Gaby, I do believe I have forgotten something very important can you think what it is,”_ Hermione proceeded to screw up her face in mock thought.

Her goddaughter giggled in that adorable toddler way. “Birthday!” Recently having heard a number of English stories she had retained this one word affectionately. Hermione returned her laughter.

Ducat transfigured a small coffee table out of an empty bucket she had strategically placed in the room before bed the previous night. She summoned a smile light show to keep her angel amused. It changed between a spontaneous firework-esque display and happy birthday.

Together the three enjoyed an orange cake and each other’s  company. While it lasted it was perfect. Unfortunately good fortune is a double edged sword.

…

Water splashed everywhere as the cloth fell from Ducat’s trembling hand into the basin of water and antiseptic. At this stage she didn’t think anything could surprise her but the web that criss-crossed her young charges back told a story that made her wish she hadn’t devoured so many sweet treats, or at the very least had given more to the girl.

What she saw was downright vicious and she couldn’t understand the reasoning behind it. Never before had they been so brutal. It made her quake and all colour drain from her features as she broke out in a cold sweat. It didn’t bear thinking about. Grimacing she fished the cloth from the warm water before wringing it out thoroughly.

She allowed her mind to drift back to when she first introduced the girl to her daughter.

…

_It seemed the kitchen was a magnet for the unlikely pair._

_One day Hermione went to take her breakfast, the next a familiar form stood resting against the same counter she had first seen. A sense of déjà vu and melancholy washed over the young girl. Much too intense for a child at that age. A creased brow greeted her across the kitchen._

_Ducat noticed the girl. Subconsciously a smile crept across her features. Gently she turned to set down the mixing bowl behind her. The food could wait, she had a daughter to attend to. At this her hand in a knee-jerk reaction to the thought protectively lay on her belly. Having caught herself in time, Ducat made a motion as though ironing out the creases in her well- worn uniform and picking off imaginary lint. She extended her arms to the child, that brilliant, beautiful girl._

_Hermione threw caution to the wind. Although her curiosity demanded an explanation and logic dictated that the woman was still a stranger, a warm and fuzzy feeling overwhelmed the detached nature of intellect to replace it with care and familial love._

_The collision almost threw her off balance before small wan arms, strong thought they were it sent a feeling of inadequacy through her. That there was more she could have- should have done for the child._

_She nuzzled herself into the warmth of Ducat's comforting embrace. Hermione had missed this simple pleasure._

_Ducat withdrew her arms before putting her charge in front of her, close enough to keep contact and far enough to inspect for good health. As Hermione casually brushed her growing bangs back from her eyes, Ducat caught sight of the one thing she had dreaded and knew her mate hadn't power over. There, wrapped around her thumb, above her wrist, in a spot damn near impossible to hide was the mark. This cemented the girl's fate. No more would there be any opportunity for her to leave mated or not. It was binding. Similar in nature to a contract, although not many are burned into their skin._

_Ducat's biggest concern was the positioning of the mark. Appoline Delacour was leaving nothing to chance. The stylised Gothic 'D' that symbolised ownership of a Veela from the Delacour clan had been placed so that all would know what she was. Never before had Ducat seen one so blatantly displayed before. The ramifications it would have- it didn't bear thinking of._

_"Come child, help me to finish the food and then we can talk," with voice cracking and rough from disuse she successfully postponed what would be a very unpleasant conversation._

…

_Of course that only lasted so long (two days) before she was forced into conceding to the child. In the relative safety of her chambers she introduced her lion to her angel, her little Gabrielle. Thankfully, with the dominant Veela gene- despite blonde hair and blue eyes being recessive- she, like all daughters born to a Veela shared in the heritage. At times Ducat found it ironic that none of these features were found in the mates to the Delacour clan. As though to encourage the idea that opposites attract._

_She brushed her own walnut bangs back as she spoke with Hermione quietly while tending to her latest baby. As hazel eyes changed between brown and green boring into chocolate brown eyes she found a vulnerability that caused her breath to catch in her chest. Glancing down once more at the now slumbering young life cradled in her arms she knew what she should, could and would do. For the first time in a long while, they all happened to be the same thing._

…

Had Hermione not been deep in thought, perhaps she would have heard the warning sign that signalled she ought to prepare for something big. Right then however her focus was captivated by thoughts of Fleur. It perplexed her. Any occasion she had been with the girl she had been nothing short of sweet. Even letting her into her bed when she was little better than the very urchins she herself had once cursed.

Granted it had got her into trouble but she found it hard to believe that she did so on purpose. _Would she?_ Herein lay the dilemma. Time and time again it was Fleur that seemed to be both her saviour and torment. This state of constant fluctuation, neither yielding more than the other reminded her of stories she had read of purgatory. Internally she chastised herself for being silly.

With a wince Hermione found herself jerked from her thoughts. Quickly she found herself gritting her teeth in order not to allow another sound to pass her lips. Instead she thought of sweet Gabrielle who had only just been settled in for an afternoon nap. To help herself through the cleaning routine that she was now overly acquainted with she pretended that the toddler was sleeping in Ducat’s bed behind her. If she knew what happened.. it would damage her irreversibly. This in mind she set her jaw and locked her eyes on a peeling corner of wallpaper. Unconsciously, it happened to be the same distraction that her mentor had found when she was in turmoil of her own.

Ducat set to her task with vigour and firmness. Although it was not her intention to bring further harm to the girl, it was essential that she could get at the wounds to ascertain the level of their severity and the risk of infection present.  A grimace set itself upon her face once more when her back was clean and the damage exposed. They were deep although thankfully they had stopped bleeding. A little dittany would have done the job. Unfortunately it was strictly forbidden to tend to injuries beyond muggle means.

Biting her lip she cast her eyes around and checked to see if Hermione was responsive with another quick swipe. The girl didn’t even flinch. Her brow creased at this however she didn’t wait any longer. From a pocket within her dress she drew out a bottle and added three drops to the water. _This way_ , she reasoned, _it will take the worst out of it and when fully healed will only leave light scarring. It will be less suspicious than if applied undiluted._

Hermione was drawn out of her thoughts by the returning of the stinging sensation as Ducat tended to her. Her back tensed. Maybe it hurt more because there was no protection from the direct contact? She found herself unable to relax from her stiffened state. Thankfully it wasn’t long before it stopped once more, replaced by a cool soothing sensation.

After swiping with the cloth so as to apply the healing essence evenly and thinly she set it down to replace it with a salve. This she spread generously. The effects were immediately noticeable. The heat had been removed from her young charges skin and once more she was pliant beneath her gentle ministrations. To finish off she wrapped gauze around to keep the dressings in place.

Noticing the cessation of Ducat’s actions Hermione quickly drew her shirt over her head, a burst of air the only indication of the discomfort she was in.

A sad smile graced Ducat’s features when the girl turned to face her impassive.  “ _Come, there is much to do, but for now, we must meet with the rest of the mates. It is time to face our Veela.”_

_…_

Fleur cordially greeted the others as they gathered in the large dining hall before the fire and the tree. The table had, for the time being, been removed from the room to allow for the congregation.

She caught the eye of her mother who nodded approvingly in her direction before turning back to face the doors. All conversation quieted as the bells rang through the corridors to signal the opening of the doors and the entrance of the Veela’s respective mates. On the twelfth toll, the great heavy oak, swung open and the mates proceeded forward by rank.

This meant that those who were human and only human led the formation, in order of importance and age of their mates.

Although Fleur knew that Hermione would enter with the others and that she would be the last, as she had the year before, she couldn’t help tossing her head and shuffling from foot to foot in anticipation and nervousness. When her mate finally stepped forward through the masses to where she stood by the tree, she clenched and unclenched her fists in rapid succession. It wouldn’t do for her to gather the girl, her warrior, into the embrace that she so dearly wished at that moment.

It made her appear rather aloof as she stood there stoically, uncertain.

…

Hermione bowed deeply, breaking eye contact. She couldn’t keep looking into those deep blue eyes or she would lose herself entirely. Not to mention, she was sure that the others were keeping their eye’s on her and the way she conducted herself in the interactions with Fleur.

Once she straightened, her breath hitched as she caught the emotion in the beauty’s eyes. Inside her a battle took place as she fumed at the injustice of it and false pretenses, even as, what she had been told was her beast, snarled back at her for thinking so little of it’s mate.

For a reason unknown to her rational mind, it insisted she give the girl the benefit of the doubt.

…

Fleur barely caught the flash of yellow as Hermione’s inner beast showed itself. Although many would fear this, it was exactly what she needed to finally relax in the girls’ presence. It also prepared her for the warm embrace she received.

Despite her age, Hermione was slightly taller than her, although it slightly annoyed her human side, the Veela was quite content to bury itself in her developing chest. Fleur inhaled deeply and indulged herself by remaining in the embrace for several  moments, before drawing away. Much  as she wanted to remain there, she knew that there would be time yet and that now wasn’t it.

Carefully she drew herself back nuzzling the younger girl one final time, before pulling away completely. The calm that radiated from their exchange, gave her the strength to gesture for the two to sit.

When they were seated, she presented her mate with her gift, for this was the manner in which the Yule always took place.

She watched as the girl unwrapped her gift, carefully but swiftly, to reveal the contents within.

As it was to be their first time to stay together, it would also be their first appearance on the dance floor at the ball after the dinner. While all Veela of the clan young and old, attended  the dinner, only those who had reached the age of Veela maturity were permitted to attend the ball and only those who had been mated were permitted to dance. In fact it was a requirement.

Fleur watched the surprise on her mate’s face at the clothes that she had been given.  First came a new pair of pressed and starched slacks and matching waistcoat in a light grey. These were followed by a crisp white shirt, vest, boxers and grey socks. Perhaps most shocking (or so she judged by the disappearance of her angel’s eyebrows into her hairline), were the polished black shoes and fine black leather gloves.

Really she had expected it. After all, the quality of the clothing was very high and the shoes and gloves under any other circumstance would be entirely forbidden. However Hermione couldn’t hide the sparkle of joy that dance in her eyes’. Not from the one who held her so dearly.

The rest of the products for the night’s preparation, would make themselves known in her mate’s room after the gathering broke up, much the same as her mate’s selection for Fleur herself.

Her gaze was keen as the girl carefully placed the clothing to one side before rocking forward to bring herself closer to Fleur. She raised a brow at Hermione’s grasp above her head. She was somewhat surprised by the presentation of her own gift. Something she would admit, quite readily, to having forgotten.

Fleur opened it with the same curiosity and reverence that, she had observed.

When the wrapping had been removed, she opened the box to find a dress of shimmering blue, that set off her eyes, paired with silver slippers and a beautiful slide set that boasted an ornate blue flower. A smile quirked as she released a small laugh.

…

Hermione observed, content, as her Veela’s eye’s danced in happiness and face became alight with amusement at her gift. Internally her beast made its happiness known. Unfortunately it was then that the second ringing of the bells, went out for the breaking of the assembly.

…

Fleur was somewhat surprised when Hermione stood first before offering her a hand to stand. The last time she had shown such affection and caring had been their first meeting. It surprised her even more when she was drawn in closer. Her heart skipped a beat as the girl’s lips brushed her earlobe, “ _A flower for my flower.”_

Were it anyone else, her pride would have demanded she scold and deal with them. But as it was her mate, she merely blushed and smiled back coyly when she heard the small laugh that Hermione let out under her breath.

Unfortunately, it was then that Fleur caught her mother’s gaze again.  When she froze the other girl sensing the tension drew away. Once more Hermione dipped into a bow before turning on her heel and leaving the room.

…

Hermione caught Apolline’s glare, fire and defiance burned as she fiercely returned it. She acknowledged the woman with only a tilt of the head, before straightening to her full height and leaving the room in the tide of other mates.

…

Marguerite clutched tightly to the hand of her rock, her Denise. It pained her to see the exchange between her daughter and the little one.

Her mate, sensing her distress, blocked the view and captured her in a sweet kiss. The sparkle that never died in the willow brunette’s, moss green eye’s gave her the strength to stay resolved.

Margo allowed a look to pass between them, one that conveyed more than she could say, due to the change of times.

Sometimes she wondered if Apolline really was her daughter. Her ambition and desire for power neglected to allow her compassion. Surely she had raised her better.

Her brow furrowed. Either way something had to be done and much as she regretted the necessity of her actions, she knew just what to do.

In place of a sigh, she pressed a chaste kiss to her partner’s forehead. Desperate times called for desperate measures and she would not allow one to ruin everything for all.

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter Four: Our story begins...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So stuff is happening again. Still looking for a beta to help out guys.

**Chapter Four: Our story begins..**

As you may imagine, Hermione retreated into herself. She clutched the clothes, both with strength and tenderness. Despite Apolline's actions and thoughts, the day had begun rather well.

Lost in her thoughts and childish wonder at Fleur, she was caught off guard by a legendary figure. The previous matriarch Marguerite Delacour. This interception lead to a sense of unease. This was an extremely powerful unknown. Not to mention the mother of her greatest nightmare and the fuel to her fire. Of course when one finds themselves in. a stressful situation, it can easily slip ones mind- or at least a young and guarded child- that this was also the Grandmother of her Fleur.

Deciding that now was not the best time for cheek, Hermione removed herself to a suitable and respectful distance before lowering her gaze in deference. Brave though she may be, her heart hammered in her chest as if to escape it's confines. A reflection on her own feelings on this confrontation.

While the young one before her processed her thoughts at a mile a minute, Marguerite wasted little had the opportunity to observe the girl many times since she had first arrived. It pained her to see and hear the suffering under the iron fist of her own daughter. Worse still she knew that for the prophecy to be fulfilled and the sweet child to lead the coven back to it's beginnings, she could show her no mercy. At least not in the traditional sense.

And so she flattened her expression before forcing the girl to make eye contact with her. 'What manner of filthy creature are you to disrespect the house Delacour? It appears you need to know your place. You are dismissed from the apprenticeship you were so generously gifted. Instead you shall wallow in the muck like the beast you are. From this moment forth you shall maintain the exterior and surrounding grounds.' With that she turned on her heel, leaving the child in a statuesque shock in. the middle of the corridor. 'Report at once!' Came the sharp command without so much as a glance backwards.

Needless to say Hermione was more than mildly taken aback. She had no idea what this change of position meant. Naturally she had believed that when it became time to assume a position in the household, it would be in the kitchens alongside Ducat. A sort of scullery maid. However it seemed it was not to be. Still somewhat dazed and thrown off kilter, she found herself back in her quarters.

Mechanically, Hermione placed her new wear on the bed and removed the dresses, aprons, hair ties and other momento's of her time as an assistant in the kitchens. With these in hand she left to see Ducat.

When she arrived in her old workplace, she was pleasantly surprised to find the woman already seasoning fine meats for the feast. Hermione cleared her throat to get her attention. 'I have been reassigned,' she kept her tone even as it still had yet to hit.

Ducat did her best not to crack at this. This poor child was being removed from her tutelage and any comforts she could provide with any level of frequency or consistency. Deciding to handle her own feelings on the matter, she magicked away the outfits until the next sorry soul would need them. Veelas be damned!

She motioned to one of the others in the room, coincidentally the same one who covered her when the girl had first arrived. Ducat could see that it was starting to sink in now. She guided her to a seat at the table before taking the one opposite. Thinking it best to start at the beginning she took a slow and unnoticeably deep breath. 'Where?' The question was posed firmly but gently.

Ducat watched the girl carefully shaking her head to clear it. As though she believed it would bring her out of her shock. 'Gardens and maintenance,' came the still slightly off voice. Ducat couldn't suppress her surprise any longer. Her eyebrows disappeared into her hairline until you'd have been hard pressed to find them.

Could this be? So wound up in her own thoughts she didn't catch the childs questioning glance. Of all the positions it was the most physically demanding and isolated. Those who worked in the gardens had separate accommodation allocated. Although it was rarely used given that mates primarily room with their Veela. Very few worked the grounds. Often times it was left to the young Veela in their final few years at Beauxbatons. In fact, if she recalled correctly, the last person to man the gardens was Clouseau. Or, as she was then known, before the changeover of command to Apolline, Denise.

Hermione furrowed her brow, 'What is it?' She asked, shaking Ducat out of her thoughts. Hermione could see the slight hesitation before Ducat told her it was a further drop in station.

Ducat felt bad about not telling the child the whole truth, so she told her part of it. This way, Apolline wouldn't retract her decision. If she thought the girl was happy... Well. Best allow her to seem indifferent or worried or upset, because only then could she truly be happy. And the older woman knew that once she had adjusted to the change, it would suit her.

...

Sometimes Fleur wasn't sure what to think. Hermione was always so strong, however as time went on, not only did they see each other less and less, but Hermione also began to close herself off. That's not to say that either of their feelings had changed (even if they had willed it, it couldn't happen), however it didn't really make it, all that much easier. Even as she prepared for the ball she felt the conflict that came with what her mother practiced and what her grandmother had always preached.

It was a confusing situation, could the solution be found in conflict or in care? Not a question easily answered be even the most long-lived and wise adults. However the battle between heart and instinct would have to wait. Hair was washed and conditioned, fragrance danced as easily as a summer breeze, while the giggles and chatter of young Veela filled the air. Fleur found herself ignoring, both the cheer and the malice that she heard. The topics varied greatly (as often they do in any group of people), from the dinner and the dancing, the frivolity and the beauty, to the bitterness about tradition and the snide comments of those who had yet to realize themselves.

The entire afternoon passed in a blur of colour and sound before moving to a strained hush and a dimmed room. She did try to listen when her mother spoke of days to come, or was it days past? New beginnings and old ties? Fleur was sure that it was all terribly important.. but also that it could wait until after the meal.

Her attention was captivated by the well dressed and put together Hermione that was seated opposite. The girl who had drawn out her seat for her to sit, and who had greeted her with the lightest brush of lips across her hand, just as she had the first day they had met. Indeed it was a change from the girl who had only an hour prior, gathered her wits as well as her new belongings before situating herself in her new accommodation. Now though, she merely sat enthralled by her mate.

They spoke little which added to Fleur's previously forgotten heartache regarding the dynamic between them. Not that there was any doubt as to the existence of the care they felt, merely its current strength. It seemed frayed- tense even, Hermione always cordial but maintaining a distance. Fleur found herself most thankful when the younger Veela and those without mates, departed the hall and the dancing began in earnest. She found that without any attempt at conversation, the flow was good. The tension still existed yes, however it was over shadowed by the clear delicacy with which her love guided her across the floor.

Were it not for the bonds of the Veela constantly tugging at her, her connection to her kin, Fleur would blissfully have ignored the presence of all those present. However her Mama called out to her through the bond, a powerful and striking figure, clearly in tight control over her actions and in extension her was something distinctly stiff, yet regal to their dance. A flow that was felt in her own pairing was missing as well as the passion that could be felt in Cécile's display with her mate.

Of course, before she knew it, the ball had concluded with nearly everyone departing. She missed her mother sneaking into a side room, although how she missed Olympe Maxime doing the same is anyone's guess. Despite her poise and grace, she is still huge!

Fleur continued to cling to Hermione's hand. Her plan was clear, together they would make their way to her room and they would sleep as they had the first time they met, with only warm feelings and the innocence of a hug to aid them on their way to sleep.

The last thing she expected was to wake the next morning, already changed and the blankets mussed, with no sign of her mate.

...

Marguerite sighed deeply, she knew the pain of being away from ones mate, yet the two had got by so far. They were young yet. She would ensure that the child would be given the contact that she needed to sustain the connection without it curdling and turning bitter. For now though... It was a short march to the room the girls shared at this moment.

'Up, now,' the command soft yet sharp. Hermione, ever aware of her surroundings asleep or not bolted upright and out of the bed. This was not the first time she had been woken from sleep to face some sort of punishment. The girl's walls were weak. The Delacour matriarch felt her heart ache at the resignation and anticipation the girl felt for what she was sure would come next. Quickly she closed the distance. The girl didn't even flinch. 'Where is your uniform?' She sneered- partially at the thought about where such a powerful being was placed, partially to give the impression of hatred.

'I have returned them to the head of kitchen services,' her voice remained quiet and even, not daring to even glance at the matriarch's features.

Margerite snapped her fingers. An old potato sack with a drawstring was summoned. She handed it off to the girl and turned on her heel. The motion was clear. Follow.

Together they made their way through the wing and out the doors through the kitchen. It took some time before they arrived at a small, relatively dilapidated hut. Or so it appeared from the outside. Inside it was spacious enough for one. An open plan living space held a small kitchenette where the girl could make tea and cook her own, simple meals as the job was a solitary one. Normally groups of mates would eat with the rest of those assigned to their area, however the gardens were left to those who craved personal space and needed to work off intense feelings through manual labor. In short the girl was perfectly suited to the position.

Only the bathroom was partitioned off. A simple sink and toilet, a press for a few towels and toiletries and a tub. Water would be summoned and warmed over the fire for the purposes of bathing.

'In that sack you will find your uniforms. Any equipment for your job is in the shed within the enclosure. There are protections on this role to prevent you from getting up to any sort of magic. I will not have your filth corrupt even this space. You are to keep it as maintained as the rest of the grounds.' Margerite turned on her heel before turning back when she reached the door. 'You had better rest, I won't have you falling asleep and ruining the grounds. The previous gardener will arrive before dawn to teach you your jobs.'

...

Hermione found herself confused. Surely such lavish living (for it was much more than her cell had previously held), was meant for those who were higher up? No beating awaited her upon her waking and it was so much more gracious than those she was normally subject to.

Deciding that breaking her head over the puzzle that was Marguerite could wait, she unpacked the sack and placed her belongings in the chest of drawers beside her bed before rolling into bed- her good clothes neatly folded and hung from a hook above the window- and falling asleep.

True to her word, it was not long before she was woken again by a sharp rapping at her door. Not daring to delay, Hermione made her way to the door blinking sleep from her eyes and squinting to make out the figure standing on the steps. She found herself brushed aside as the figure brusquely entered.

'I am Clouseau,' the brunette stated before turning sharply in a military-esque manner. 'Wash the sleep from your eyes and return here at once.'

Dazed Hermione followed the command without questioning. She returned not five minutes later, teeth brushed and hair arranged in a knot on top of her head, to find a cup of coffee, a glass of some sort of fruit drink, alongside a heavy dark bread with butter for sustenance. Clouseau sat straight on a chair facing her at the aged, yet stable dining table. When she found herself simply staring, Clouseau quirked a brow which pulled her out of her stupor. Once she was seated a wave of the hand was all the invitation she needed to dig in. Although the breakfast was simple, it was tasty and Hermione sensed it would be sufficient for the work she would do from now on.

The day that followed was one of the best she had since she wandered the streets while residing in the orphanage. Clouseau provided a company she was unused to, quiet and assured the woman led her through the various tasks, demonstrating, assisting and correcting. She was not overly harsh, nor was she lenient. Despite her seemingly standoffish persona, Hermione found herself drawn in by Clouseau.

Lunch was a simple affair in the fields and the dinner was rich in vegetables and meat. Hermione learned that she was to tend to her own small garden for food as well as those that would feed the coven. A small chicken coop provided egg and the position gave a small stipend for meat which she could pay to the kitchen staff in return for more than sufficient rations to cover the physically intense workload she was assigned.

She found herself content in her position although somewhat empty. The one time she had forgotten her juice drink she never did again. The crushing pain and the wave of nausea that caused her to collapse elicited a visit from Marguerite herself that was more punishing than any Apolline has gifted her after forcing the drink into her through a funnel. It was not the punishment but the feelings that meant no lapse would occur again.

...

It was therefore with great surprise that she received a house call from Ducat. It had been so long since they had last seen each other or spoken. It was now May.

Almost half a year had passed before Hermione walked into her hut, removing her jerkin and slipping off her boots, before she raised her eyes to find the woman at the table, sitting where she herself had on the first day in her new post. Several moments passed in surprise before the woman stood and Hermione flung herself at her.

'Maman!' She cried out as she embraced her and Ducat laughed while hugging her for dear life. When finally they pulled apart she found herself faced with a smile, tears and worry lines on the woman's face. Concern took over from the joy of again being reunited as the two appeared to have bad luck in constantly being separated. 'What is it? What happened?' Hermione didn't ask what was wrong due to the clear conflict on Ducat's face. It appeared the situation wasn't as clear cut as normal.

'My dear child,' she held her face in her hands as she smiled proudly at the girl whom she loved as a daughter, 'you are to attend Beauxbatons!'

Hermione was startled and stumbled back, there was no precedent for this. It was entirely unexpected. She struggled to compose herself before choking out the word, 'When?'

At this Ducat's joy dimmed and she drew the girl back in tightly, 'In a fortnight.'

...

Her mate had been true to her word, the girl would indeed receive an education but it seemed that Apolline would continue to thwart any chance that the girl had at normality.


	5. Chapter Five: The sendoff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, really sorry about the *cough* overdue *cough* update. I genuinely didn't think it would take this long to get this far in the fic. Anyone interested in helping is most welcome to drop me a line via PM and let me know!

Chapter Five: Starting school.. sort of

Internally Ducat was caught between fuming and cheering. School for the little one! For her little one- just like the child deserved. A chance to get out, to learn, to live and perhaps to love. Maybe away from the controlling and prejudiced atmosphere of the manor, her bond with Fleur could thrive.

...

Hermione kept her wits about her, no longer was she as easily thrown off as that Christmas. The girl had aged, grown, out on some wiry muscle. Not dazed but alert, mind calculating. It was no secret that the starting age for school was twelve and she had yet to hit double digits. Her mate on the other hand.. well a perverted old man might forget it, but she had finally reached that "magical" age. The age at which one typically began to learn magic. Typically one would start Beauxbatons when they reached ten, for a sort of preliminary grounding. It stopped the, much distracting and potentially dangerous, uncontrolled outbursts of young children. Primarily this was done through games that taught control over their power and a level of focus and restraint for their emotions, as well as giving the child a conduit for their power.

Veela of course, at this stage Hermione truly expected nothing less, were an exception. Responsibility for early education fell to the clan and it would actually be a deterent for the chidren to be removed from the home two years early. Again it was easy to see the influence the Veela held as Hermione started earlier than any other. This was something that had to be accounted for due to the unusual circumstance of their pairing at such a young age.

However it still came as a surprise when she gave her mother a hug and prepared to leave the house. She wiped away tears on the older woman's face as she ignored the rummaging in her pocket. Ducat was saved any awkward questions by her youngest one barreling into the girl.

"Please 'Mio, please, please don't go!" The child wept frantically trying to wrap herself tighter around Hermione, while attempting to root herself to the floor. A difficult feat for a newly two year old!

In return she simply received a light chuckle, ruffling of hair and kiss on the cheek. Hermione lifted the child carefully cradling her, for she wouldn't see the girl again for some months- and that if she was lucky. Visitation was always uncertain when it came to little Gabu.

"It will not be long my dear, perhaps I will send you a toilet seat hmm?" At this Gabrielle released her unrelenting grip and ran inside, eyes sparkling. She had to get away to giggle in peace and find somewhere to hide a strange thing like that.

Hermione felt warm and happy at the interaction until she caught the cold gaze of her mates mother.

...

Apolline jerked her head to one side clearly indicating to the beast to follow. Her lip curled in disgust when she noticed that- creature favoring her left foot. It wasn't difficult to seclude themselves from the rest. It took a split second, a jiffy if ever there were one, for her to have the disgrace pinned up a wall face set in snarl.

"Listen here you filthy animal and listen well, you are sullying this prestigious magical establishment only for my daughter. You will learn so that you can finally be useful around here like the rest of those tainted by magical blood and you will behave."

The warning wasn't much, but it would have to o given the lateness of the hour, especially given the defiant look that Apolline received back from her daughter's mate. There was no more pushing that could be done at any rate. With that she dropped the creature and apparated away.

...

Hermione took great pride in landing on her feet. It didn't take much to straighten out her shirt and adjust her jeans. Without looking back the girl continued towards the carriage as she had been before she was.. summoned- if you want to be polite about it.

One thing was for sure.

It is going to be an interesting year.


End file.
